


tumblr prompt fills

by helloshepard



Series: helloshepard's CYBERVERSE fix-it fics [3]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Cyberverse
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Drunken Confessions, Friendship, Kissing, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prompt Fill, Spoilers, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23485138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: a collection of tumblr prompt fills!
Relationships: Constructicons/Prowl, Cosmos/Prowl (Transformers), Dead End & Astrotrain (Transformers), Dead End/Perceptor (Transformers)
Series: helloshepard's CYBERVERSE fix-it fics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703764
Comments: 15
Kudos: 78





	1. Cosmos/Prowl: are you still awake?

**Author's Note:**

> the prompts from chapters 1-9 are taken from [this list.](https://soundwavereporting.tumblr.com/post/613240473630490624/writing-prompts)

“Are you still awake?”

“Obviously.”

Cosmos snorted. He rolled over to face Prowl, taking in the other Autobot’s relaxed frame, the disarmingly charming way he carried himself. 

Or maybe Prowl was just tired. Cosmos wiggled closer, humming appreciatively when Prowl snaked a leg around Cosmos’s waist, pulling him even closer. He was close enough that had his battlemask been retracted, their ventilations would be mingling in the still air. Cosmos let out a slow, uncertain breath. It wasn’t like he _hadn’t_ done this before. He had. He liked it. And Prowl liked it, too.

But it just felt _weird_ when Soundwave wasn’t here. Cosmos missed him, of course, and he knew Prowl did, too. And it wasn’t as though he didn’t like spending time alone with Prowl—he _did._ But he missed Soundwave, too.

Missing Soundwave didn’t stop Cosmos’s spark from spinning as his hand closed the distance between them. The cracked plating and damaged protoform was rough under his hands, but Prowl leaned into the touch, allowing Cosmos to freely caress his face. The first time he had done this, Cosmos had wondered if Prowl could actually feel the touches around the damaged optical socket, or if the nerve circuits had been destroyed along with the optic itself. But then he had felt Prowl smiling into his palm when Cosmos moved his hand down to cup his jaw, and Cosmos had cast the question aside.

Cosmos switched his optics off. His hand came to rest at the base of Prowl’s neck, and the Autobot mumbled his assent at the gesture, leaning forward until the tip of his intact chevron poked Cosmos in the chest.

“G’night, Prowl.”

“Good night.”


	2. Constructicons/Prowl: “You fainted, straight into my arms. You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for hangovers and implied engex (alcohol) misuse.

Hook woke up to a splitting headache and the unquestionable knowledge that at that very moment, he was being watched. 

Watched, and judged. 

Hook switched on his optics. His hunch was immediately proven correct—five pairs of optics (four red, one blue) glared in unison. Normally, he’d be _thrilled_ to be at the center of his gestalt’s attention, and more than willing to fight to keep the spotlight on him, dazzling his teammates with his newest projects. 

But right now, Hook wanted to pull the covers over his head and sleep for a century. 

“You broke Prowl’s inbox,” Long Haul said, as a greeting.

“He did _not,”_ One of them retorted. “He just—” 

“Sent too many messages.” 

“Twenty-five-point-six terabytes of messages, to be exact,” Prowl said. Ordinarily, Hook would have basked in the knowledge that their leader, the Autobot-turned-combiner was paying attention to _him._ Out of the five of them, Hook had _thought_ Prowl paid the most attention to Scavenger, going so far as to address him directly. It had irked him—irked _all_ of them, because if you liked Scavenger, you liked _all of them._

Hook included. 

“You broke into his office,” Bonecrusher added, and Prowl turned his gaze towards the other Constructicons. “And tried to turn his desk into a 25-GPU computer.” 

“Yeah. Why don’t _we_ get one of those?” 

“You wouldn’t know what to do with one if you had it,” Hook snapped. That wasn’t fair. If _Prowl_ knew what to do with a supercomputer, they _all_ would know what to do with a supercomputer. 

Somehow, that thought rang hollow: if they were one and the same, why _had_ he crashed Prowl’s inbox (perhaps he _had_ sent too many messages, Hook thought, but at least half of them were schematics and project data Prowl would take an interest in. Probably.)? why would he show up at Prowl’s office, overcharged and uninhibited, and—

_Pit._

“I think he’s remembering.” 

“How could he _forget?”_

“If _I_ stood on Prowl’s desk and tried to give a presentation on why Kaonian architectural styles are an unintentional pastiche of Peptex and Iacon—”

“Which just isn’t true.”

“—art forms, _I’d_ want to—”

“Shut up.” 

Hook’s spark nearly gave out as he realized he and Prowl had spoken in unison. He didn’t have time to ponder on that fact—Prowl was _looking(!!)_ at him again. 

“If you wanted to see me, you could have just _asked.”_ Prowl said. Hook couldn’t detect any sarcasm in his voice. “You _didn’t_ need to get yourself overcharged, vandalize the ship, and then pass out. In my arms.” 

Huh. Hook _had_ forgotten that bit. 

“Soooo…” Long Haul’s leg was shaking. It was an irritating habit of his, one that the others had been picking up as of late. “We good?” 

“No.” Prowl crossed his arms. “I told Cosmos to dump the rest of your engex out the airlock.” 

“We can take him. Stupid Autobot, he’s not even the _right_ shade of green—” 

“He already did it.” 

“Oh.” Bonecrusher glared. “But it’s Hook’s fault!” 

“Aren’t you a _team?”_

“…right.” Bonecrusher kicked Hook’s recharge slab. The Constructicon yelped. “So. We good?” 

Prowl sighed. Hook admired the way the Autobot was probably calculating the probability that the Constructicons were about to attempt to rope him into another ‘team bonding’ activity. 

“Clean up my office,” Prowl said. “And then we’ll talk.” 


	3. Dead End/Perceptor: “You can’t die. Please don’t die.”

“No.” 

“Dead End.” 

“Come _on.”_

_“Dead End.”_

Frustrated, the Decepticon threw up his hands, but managed to keep ahold of the controller. His side of the screen, was blinking gray and blue as his character lay on the floor, dead from multiple wounds inflicted by some sort of mutated sparkeater. 

“It died,” Dead End muttered. _“_ Why. I didn’t even _do_ anything!”

Perceptor’s lips twitched. He disconnected the controller from his wrist and turned to face Dead End, looking entirely too pleased with himself. 

“‘Not doing anything’ may have something to do with it,” Perceptor mused dryly. “Perhaps you should consider equipping a weapon.” 

“I did!” Dead End gestured to his character, then realized Perceptor couldn’t see it. “He had a null ray. _And_ a grenade launcher.” 

Perceptor settled back into his seat on the sofa, which had the not-unpleasant effect of Dead End leaning a little closer to the Autobot than he had been in the moment previous. 

“Are you going to continue yelling at an insentient collection of pixels and data?” Petceptor held up his controller. “Or would you like to continue.” 

_“Ugh.”_ Dead End crossed his arms. “Fine.” 

“Good.” Perceptor reconnected the controller’s cable to his wrist port. “Whenever you’re ready.” 

Dead End scowled at the screen.

“Do _not_ mess this up for me,” He muttered at the controller in his hand. “You cannot die this time.” 

Dead End looked over at Perceptor, who was making a good attempt at not eavesdropping. The smirk was still plastered on the Autobot’s face. 

_“Please,”_ Dead End punctuated every word with a forceful press of a button as he chose his respawn point. “Don’t. Die.” 

“One day we will have completed the training level,” Perceptor said, evenly. 

Dead End felt his joints freeze. 

“The _what?”_


	4. Dead End/Perceptor, Dead End & Clobber: "Everyone keeps telling me you're the bad guy."

“I _like_ being an Autobot,” Clobber said. “I do!” 

Dead End peered at her over the rim of his glass. 

“Then why do you sound like you’retrying to convince me?”

Clobber looked pointedly at the insignia on his armor. Dead End crossed his arms. 

“You’d make a great Autobot!” 

“No, I wouldn’t.” 

Clobber sighed. “No, you wouldn’t. But you’re with Perceptor now…?”

Dead End looked away. They were seated in a booth at Maccadam’s, ignoring suspicious looks as they nursed weak drinks. Clobber’s shift had ended early, and Dead End…

He didn’t _have_ a shift. Or a job, unless you called ‘being the unofficial persona non grata of Cybertronians as a whole’ a job. He had his apartment, of course—a place in New Rodion that felt as empty as it was small, but little else. 

“You _are_ with Perceptor? Right?” 

Dead End sighed. 

“I don’t know.” 

He dared look in Perceptor’s direction. The Autobot had been busy pouring a drink, but his scope rotated in Dead End’s direction, and Perceptor looked up. 

Dead End felt his struts twisting into knots when he saw Autobot’s small, uncertain smile aimed at him. At _him._

Clobber frowned. “I hate the things they say about you. They talk about you like you’re the worst bot forged since Megatron!”

“Hah.” Dead End finished his drink. “They’re not wrong.” 

Besides. He weathered enough dirty looks and muttered insults from the Autobots, and he didn’t need to lose what little credibility he still maintained as a full-fledged Decepticon. 

“You’re _not,_ though! You’re a good guy!” Clobber sighed. “Anyway, I’m meeting with Hot Rod at the sulfur flats in an hour. He was gonna show me how to asteroid surf.“

“Sounds fun.” 

“You should come with!” Clobber said. “Soundwave’s gonna be there!” 

“You really know how to win a bot over,” Dead End muttered. “I’m…supposed to have dinner with Perceptor after the bar closes.” 

“Oh! Next time then.” Clobber smiled. “Be seeing you, Dead End!” 

“Right.” 

Now that he was alone, the weight of the Autobot’s stares felt heavier than ever. Dead End contented himself with sneaking glances at Perceptor. He refused to let himself stare outright—the last thing he (or Perceptor) needed was someone accusing him of stalking Perceptor. Or something. 

“Dead End.” 

Dead End looked up. He _had_ hoped he had somehow missed the last four hours, and would be greeted with a blessedly empty bar. Instead, Perceptor stood at his side, one hand on his shoulder. And the bar was still full.

Automatically, Dead End stood, bumping awkwardly against Perceptor’s frame. He had to fight back a wince when Perceptor took an awkward step back. 

“Y-eah?” 

The kiss was abrupt. Unexpected. It certainly wasn’t their first kiss, or even their second. Nor was it their first kiss in the _bar_. 

But it _was_ the first time anyone had been around to see it. 

“What was _that_ about?” Dead End said, when he found his voice again.

“The welcome you deserve.” Perceptor smiled against Dead End’s lips. “Is there a problem with that?” 

“No, uh.” Dead End leaned in for another kiss. “I’m good.” 


	5. Dead End/Perceptor + Stunticons: “It’s not what it looks like.”

Last night, he and Perceptor had ended up in the Stunticon’s habsuite for the first time. 

The rest of his team was visiting Velocitron, and would be for the next two days. Normally, Dead End would have jumped a chance to try out his new wheels on a real racetrack, butthere was one pressing reason to stay behind—and that reason was the Autobot engineer currently taking up his entire recharge slab. Dead End was content to sit perched on the edge of the bed and watch Perceptor sleep.

Dead End grabbed a tarp from the floor. It smelled perfectly serviceable—there was no hint of the pungent wax Wildrider insisted on slathering on his frame, no stains from one of the late night snacks Drag Strip insisted on eating while watching bad horror vids. As gently as he could manage, Dead End draped the tarp over Perceptor’s frame. 

He looked…good, in Dead End’s recharge slab. 

Like he belonged there.

Dead End supposed there was enough room for two of them in the bed. 

He was halfway settled in, having hooked a leg around Perceptor’s waist to get as close enough to the Autobot as physical frames would allow, when he heard the lock click.

Dead End bolted upright. He stumbled to the door, grabbing the handle and pulling it shut. 

“What the—Dead End?”

Dead End swore. 

_“Perceptor.”_

The Autobot was unresponsive. Still sleeping.

“Let us in!” 

Someone—Motormaster, Dead End knew; he was the only one strong enough—slammed into the door, knocking Dead End back. He gave up all pretense and retreated to his berth. He shook Perceptor’s arm, and the Autobot blinked, switching his optics on sleepily. 

“You need to be quiet.” Dead End pulled the tarp over Perceptor’s head. “They’re back.”

“What?” 

_“Please.”_ Dead End whispered. “Just till they leave.” 

“Wh—“ 

The door burst open and the Stunticons stumbled in. They were all in varying levels of overcharge—Drag Strip’s optics were too bright, Wildrider was giggling, Breakdown was clinging to Motormaster, and Motormaster’s scowl was only half as unkind as it usually was.

“What was that about?” 

“You’re back early,” Dead End said. 

“Velocitron’s hosting a race. Planet’s closed to ‘amateurs’.” Wildrider sneered. “So we’re back.” 

“Okay.” Dead End sat on the edge of his berth and hoped his teammates wouldn’t look too closely at the misshapen form under the tarp. “So. You’re back.” 

“That’s what we said.” Drag Strip squinted and poked Dead End’s headfin. Dead End shoved the offending hand away. 

“Dead Endddd…” 

“This is foolish.” 

Perceptor sat up, pulling the tarp away from his face. Dead End yelped gracelessly and tried to tackle the Autobot, but Perceptor ignored him. 

“Hello.” Perceptor said. The other Stunticons stared. “My name is Perceptor. Dead End and I have been seeing each other for the last three months.” 

“And he didn’t tell us about you?” 

“Presumably to prevent an incident like this from occurring.” Perceptor reached out to squeeze Dead End’s hand. 

“This isn’t—” Dead End stuttered, as his two worlds abruptly collided to form a new, utterly embarrassing universe. “It’s not what it looks like!” 

Wildrider cackled.

_“Dead End’s got a boyyyfriend!”_

Perceptor patted Dead End’s knee.

“They were going to find out eventually.” 

“I know.” Giving up all pretense of dignity, Dead End buried his face in Perceptor’s shoulder. 

“Where did you _meet_ him? He’s so _cute!”_

“You gonna share, Dead End?” 

Dead End groaned. 


	6. Dead End & Astrotrain: "You're so cute when you pout like that."

“Come on.” Astrotrain punctuated his sentence by nudging Dead End with his foot. Considering Astrotrain’s size, Dead End considered himself lucky that he didn’t fall flat on his face. Instead, Dead End just stumbled forward, catching himself on the edge of the data console. 

“Go away,” Dead End snapped. “I’m working.” 

“No you’re not.” Astrotrain tapped the door with one massive finger. “Maccadam’s is closed today. You’re off.” 

Dead End scoffed. 

“You’re so cute when you pout like that,” Astrotrain said. “Does Perceptor like it when you do that?” 

“Don’t talk about him.” 

“Why?” 

Dead End had been pointedly looking anywhere but at Astrotrain, but he heard the shuttleformer’s gears shift as he knelt to make eye contact with Dead End. 

“It’s none of your business. That’s why.” Dead End punctuated _his_ statement by whacking Astrotrain in the knee. 

It had absolutely no effect. 

“You _like_ him.” 

“Obviously.” 

“Oh Dead End,” Astrotrain patted his head. It felt like getting hit over the head with a chair. “You’re adorable.”

“Shut up.” Dead End managed to shove Astrotrain’s hand away. “Leave me alone.” 

“Why?” Astrotrain smirked. “Are you waiting for Perceptor?” 

“No.” 

“Are you going on a _date?”_

_“No.”_

“Dead End!” Astrotrain managed to sound genuine. “And I wasn’t invited?” 

Dead End groaned.


	7. Dead End/Perceptor "We're in the middle of a thunderstorm and you want to stop and feel the rain?"

Early in life, Dead End had learned to anticipate rain for the express purpose of avoiding downpours of acid water. Ibex was as notorious for abrupt acid storms and flash floods as it was lauded for its famed racetracks. Long before Dead End had ever dreamed of acquiring a speedster alt, he had worked in the shipyards, with their minimal cover and bosses who didn’t care if the paint was burned off your plating as long as the cargo was unloaded on time.

Geographically, Iacon was about as far away from Iacon as you could get, without venturing into little towns like Carpessa (or as its new energon-ranching residents preferred to call it, Cowpessa), which meant the rain currently plummeting down in increasingly heavy sheets was as harmless as the water that came out of the washracks.

Dead End still hated the rain.

Perceptor, obviously, did not. 

Dead End had never asked the bot where he came from, but clearly, it was somewhere with harmless rain.

“You’re gonna fry your brain if you keep doing that.”

Obligingly, Perceptor lowered his head, and twin streams of water slid down his face.

Dead End cringed. The appointment to get Perceptor’s optics replaced couldn’t come soon enough. 

Despite the fact that the rain rendered Perceptor’s scope more or less useless, Dead End leaned against the entrance to Maccadam’s, hoping that Perceptor could at least sense his reluctance to step into the rain. His reluctance was only reaffirmed when lightning flashed, followed by a boom of thunder a few seconds later.

Perceptor didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re standing in the middle of a thunderstorm,” Dead End said.

“Obviously.” Perceptor had begun to tilt his head back up, but stopped before Dead End could interject. “Join me?”

“I’m good.”

“Hm.” Perceptor made his way from the middle of the street (another thing he really needed to stop doing), back to the entrance to Maccadam’s. Dead End could smell the sharp scent of wet ozone. He hated that smell.

But for Perceptor, he would gladly make an exception.

He leaned in for an automatic, unthinking kiss, and heard Perceptor’s scope click back online. As always, Perceptor’s hand fit comfortably in his—like it was meant to be there, or however the nauseatingly romantic line went.

Perceptor tugged at his hand. Dead End felt his spark spin.

“I’m not going out there.”

Dead End could feel his resolve crumbling. And Perceptor could sense it.

“Come with me.”

Unlike the first time Perceptor had told Dead End to follow him, this time, his words carried no weight. It was a request—an easily refused one at that. Nothing more.

Dead End followed anyway.

He had barely made it two steps from Maccadam’s when Perceptor wheeled around and pulled him down for another kiss, smothering Dead End’s surprise with his mouth. Effortlessly—the bot wasn’t nearly as heavy as he looked—Dead End snaked his hands around Perceptor’s thighs and lifted Perceptor into his arms. It wasn’t something they did often; neither one of them was prone to spontaneity.

Perceptor wrapped his legs around Dead End’s waist and settled his arms around Dead End’s neck and shoulders.

“Have your feelings towards the rain changed?” Perceptor mumbled.

Dead End felt the cool, harmless water pelting his overheated frame.

He looked at Perceptor, and made a mental note to always make an exception for the rain whenever Perceptor was around.

“We’ll see.”


	8. Dead End/Perceptor "That's almost exactly the opposite of what I meant."

Last week, Clobber had come to the conclusion that she _liked_ being an Autobot.

Sure, they frowned on brawling as a form of entertainment, and their recharge slabs were way too small…but Clobber could live with that. Now that the fence was down, she could go and see most of her Decepticon friends anytime she wanted. Plus, her friends from the invasion seemed to enjoy visiting Maccadam’s just as much as she did! One of them even _owned_ the place now, and another was working there.

Hot Rod and Soundwave came to Maccadam’s nearly every day—usually separately, though Clobber had noticed they were starting to arrive together more often than not. And Whirl was always in Mac’s as well, usually fawning over a newly-arrived Tetrahexan and his minibot sparkmate who commandeered the jukebox on the rare occasion they arrived before Soundwave.

Speaking of Soundwave…

The bot had seized control of the jukebox an hour ago, and had been busy playing some song from Earth on repeat. Most of the bots had simply turned off the audio receptors by now, but Dead End looked like he was half a minute away from going over and unplugging the thing himself.

And speaking of Dead End…

Clobber got out of her seat and walked over to the Decepticon, who was perched on the edge of a barstool and glaring at Soundwave.

“I forgot to tell you congratulations!”

Dead End looked up.

“For what?”

“You and Perceptor!” Clobber patted Dead End’s shoulders. He glared, and Clobber pulled away. “You two are together now, right? Officially?”

“You don’t have to say it so _loud,”_ Dead End muttered. “I told you already. A lot of the Autobots aren’t exactly happy with the bar’s newest employee.”

“Well, they should be.” Clobber tried not to frown—the Autobots were nice enough to _her_ , but Dead End had managed to attract some of their ire. Prior to him getting into a shouting match with an overcharged Roadbuster, she didn’t even know Autobots were able to get angry. “I know one—two—Autobots who are happy for you!” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Me,” Clobber said, pointing to herself. “And Perceptor.”

“Great.” Dead End rolled his optics—or maybe he did; it was hard to tell with his weird white eyes—and crossed his arms. “Now just get the other thousand Autobots to agree with you.”

“I’ll work on it,” Clobber promised.

“You _really_ don’t need to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Hey Percy!” Clobber looked over to greet Perceptor. “We were just talkin’ about you—I was telling Dead End how I’m gonna start making the other Autobots see how nice he is!”

“‘Nice’?”

“Well, maybe not nice, but…” Clobber trailed off. “Something. Dead End is something.”

“He certainly is something.”

 _“Ugh.”_ But Clobber definitely didn’t fail to see the way Perceptor brushed his fingers against Dead End’s arm, nor the way Dead End’s expression immediately softened.

“So…” Perceptor said. “We were talking about Dead End.”

“We were _done_ talking about Dead End, actually.” Dead End scowled. 

“I think,” Clobber said, and winked at Perceptor—though considering she only had one optic, she supposed it was just blinking. “We were saying how we were gonna get a thousand Autobots to agree how fantastic Dead End is!”

“That is—that’s almost exactly the opposite of what I said,” Dead End muttered. “I’m not out to win any popularity contests here.”

Clobber sighed.

“Not at this rate you won’t.”


	9. Dead End & Stunticons: "I can't believe you talked me into this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt list: https://soundwavereporting.tumblr.com/post/613240473630490624/writing-prompts

Dead End looked at the Stunticons.

He looked at the racetrack.

He looked back at the Stunticons.

“This place looks like it’s one wrong turn away from collapsing,” Dead End said. “I’m not doing it.”

“Come on,” Breakdown implored, just as Motormaster said: “I wasn’t asking.”

“It’s the only place bots like us can race!” Drag Strip was pacing. The wheels on her legs spun restlessly. “At least till we qualify for a real show. Dontcha want to speed up to the finish line, transform into your root mode and take a sparkflower bouquet from Perceptor and dip him down for a kiss in front of a million bots?”

“No.”

 _“He’d_ like it.”

“No he wouldn’t.”

Wildrider snorted. “Percy doesn’t know what he’s missing then.”

Motormaster shoved Dead End forward. Dead End stumbled, eyeing the half-finished racetrack with a suspicious optic. The racetrack—Ibex’s newest, located on the fringes of the own, far enough away from the spaceports to give them the illusion that they really were forged speedsters, born for the racetrack, instead of laborers sporting a new alt mode.

“Get going.”

“Why am I going first?”

“Because I said so.” Motormaster grimaced. “Go on.”

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Dead End said.

He would never say it in a million years—especially to his teammates—but Dead End missed Perceptor. The bot was in Kalis for the week, some scientific conference whose purpose he had tried (and failed) to explain to Dead End. Offhandedly, Perceptor had mentioned the possibility he might be getting transferred out of the quadrant soon.

Dead End didn’t know how to feel about that. He put it out of his mind, focusing instead on the racetrack and his obnoxious team.

Without Perceptor around, he didn’t have much else going on.

“How about this?” Drag Strip’s optics were shining. “If I beat you, I get Perceptor. All to myself.”

“What—no!” Dead End shoved Drag Strip away.

“Why not?” Wildrider actually sounded like he was _sulking._ Idiot. “We all like him.”

“He doesn’t like you.” 

“How do you know?”

“I asked,” Dead End lied. “And he told me.”

“Are we done talking about the microscope?” Motormaster snapped. “Get on the track before I pull out your tires and feed them to Wildrider.

“Hey!”

“I hate this,” Dead End muttered. His irritation lasted as long as it took to transform—once his wheels hit the track, and he navigated the first turn, Dead End was in a genuinely good mood.

It felt natural. _Nice,_ like it was something he had been born to do. He heard his teammates transform and follow suit, heard their elated shouts. Drag Strip and Wildrider passed him quickly—they had always been the smallest of the bunch, the ones who adapted the fastest to their new altmodes.

He and Breakdown crossed the finish line together. Drag Strip and Wildrider had gone for another lap.

“Hey,” Breakdown said. “Let’s do another?”

Dead End sighed, though this time, there was no real irritation.

“Yeah. Let’s go again.”


	10. Six Sentence Fics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An assortment of ficlets, based on an ask meme that went 'send me the first sentence of a fic and I'll write the next five'! 
> 
> No content warnings I can think of offhand.

> **Never in a million years would Dead End have admitted how much pain he felt in his spark in that moment.** (Cyberverse, Dead End)

He looked at the newly-constructed memorial. Cheetor--some Autobot Dead End had never met--'s name was the first one on the pillar, followed by Shockwave's, followed by--

There were too many. Far too many. All for what--ninety percent of Cybertronians wiped out forever, a huge portion of the planet uninhabitable?

Dead End looked away.

* * *

> **"Shockwave pushed everything off his desk in such a muted frenzy that he didn't notice the picture frame flying towards the floor and shattering into a thousand tiny pieces."** (Cyberverse, implied Shockwave/Wheeljack)

The sound of shattering glass pulled Shockwave out of his haze. He whipped around, panic blossoming in his chest as he pulled out the picture. It was printed on some semi-organic composite paper he couldn’t immediately name. One of Wheeljack’s inventions, one they’d worked on together, before…

_Before._

* * *

> **"Dead End did his best to ignore the acidic words of the Autobot that he really shouldn't have cared about, but he felt his composure slipping."** (Cyberverse, Dead End)

Intellectually, Dead End knew the smart thing would be to play dumb (not difficult), to pretend he hadn’t heard, or if he had, pretend he didn’t understand. But he felt the beginnings of a snarl at the edges of his mouth and knew any attempt to pretend it hadn’t happened would be as futile as it was transparent.

Instead, he set the drink down with slightly more force than necessary, not bothering to conceal a huff as he turned and sauntered away. He didn’t _think_ Perceptor had heard the exchange–the ‘bot didn’t react when Dead End approached, which Dead End considered a stroke of good luck.

Perceptor had enough to worry about.

* * *

> **"today was the day tailgate finally went apeshit"** (IDW/MTMTE, Tailgate, Swerve)

The bar was in complete disarray.

And for once, Whirl looked genuinely _happy._

Those were two things Swerve never wanted to see again. He grabbed a rag and wiped off a small section of the counter, as though the single clean spot amidst the sea of Tailgate-led carnage might help him feel a bit better.

“Ten!” Swerve yelled. “Come help me clean this up!”

* * *

> **"Wheeljack almost threw himself onto the empty berth when he saw a single rose on the bedside table".** (Cyberverse, Wheeljack/Shockwave)

Gently, Wheeljack cradled it in his hands and admired its workmanship. Upon closer inspection, it was not organic _._ He could see the delicate cybernetic threads woven into the soft, synthetic material. To a casual viewer, this would be identical to an organic rose.

“Hey Shockwave?” Wheeljack said, to the empty, still air. “I got your message loud and clear."

* * *

> **"I promise this isn't what it looks like!"** (IDW, Shock & Ore & Skids)

“What are you two doing?”

“Um,” Shock said.

“Gluing?” Ore offered. 

_“Gluing.”_ Skids deadpanned. “Gluing _what?”_

“Not so much a _what,”_ Shock said. “As a who?”

* * *

> **"Soundwave laid a hand on the station's wall, soaking in Cosmos' presence."** (IDW/Cityspeaker!Soundwave AU, Cosmos/Soundwave

“I missed you,” Soundwave said.

>>I missed you too.

The metal beneath his hand shifted, revealing a dataport. Obligingly, Soundwave plugged in, watching Cosmos sift through the images and video of Metroplex before settling in to decrypt the data the other Titan had transmitted.

Soundwave leaned against the wall, and for the first time in nearly a month, felt at peace.

* * *

> **"It was in the times like this that Dead End realized he didn't belong."** (Cyberverse, Dead End/Perceptor)

He watched Perceptor, with his small smile and quick wit, chatting with the Autobot scientists outside the convention hall. Perceptor had asked Dead End to attend the conference with him, but upon seeing the featured presenter, Perceptor had hardly spoken a word to him, save to ask how he liked the displays. Even that, Dead End figured, was more out of frustrated politness than any actual interest.

Dead End tore his gaze away from Perceptor–no one likes a clingy bot, much less a _jealous,_ clingy bot, and found himself staring at a sign advertising a newly founded trade school focusing on applicational space bridge physics.

He dismissed the thought as soon as it occured to him–he might be stupid, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think he was smart enough to become a _space bridge_ engineer just to impress Perceptor.

* * *

> **The shadow was enough to block out the sun, but it wasn't particularly concerning.** (TFP, Miko & Bulkhead, ensemble cast) 

“Thanks!” Miko chirped, and Bulkhead nodded. Miko went back to sketching the waves as they rolled onto the shore.

Just to their right, Jack was trying (and failing) to teach Raf to play beach volleyball, with Bumblebee serving as a makeshift net. Bulkhead took a second to ensure the other ‘bots were where he’d left them, sitting in the shade of some impressively sized palm trees, then turned his attention back to Miko.

* * *

> **"there was a moment of silence as the constructicons glanced at each other before scavenger tentatively said, 'we tried?'"** (G1, Constructicons, Megatron)

Megatron glared. Scavenger yelped and went to hide behind Scrapper, who was poring over the schematics, trying to find out exactly where they had gone wrong.

“How,” Megatron said slowly, “Can I ask for a weapon to destroy the Autobots, and you six strutless buffoons come up with THIS?”

Bonecrusher seized a micron of courage and stepped forward. Doing his best to ignore the delighted earth gleanings playing on the brand new jungle gym they had somehow built, he swallowed, then offered his apologies.

* * *

> **Everyone had to shut off their audio-receptors as Smokescreen blew loud and hard into the trumpet.** (G1, Inferno, Smokescreen)

Inferno cringed.

He hoped this would be the last time Smokescreen was invited to facilitate roll call. In the hopes of boosting morale, Optimus had begun picking random Autobots do things like…this.

As it stood, Optimus, Prowl, Ratchet, and Jazz remained at attention, valiantly ignoring the blaring sounds coming from the Cybertronian-sized trumped. Or maybe they too had switched off their audio receptors.

Inferno hoped this would end sooner, rather than later.

Everyone had to shut off their audio-receptors as Smokescreen blew loud and hard into the trumpet.

* * *

> **Sometimes Soundwave just didn't know what to say... like right now, for instance.** (IDW/exrid, Soundwave)

His fingers hesitated above the keyboard. In the few months that had passed since they last spoke, so much had changed. How could he convey it all to Ravage–via _text_ , of all things, when both of them understood the world in ways that had no words?

Soundwave pushed the keyboard away: one day, Ravage would return. And then they would talk.

* * *

> **Smokescreen had felt a faint numbness in his head as the sword cleaved through his arm.** (G1, Smokescreen)

Thankfully, this particular debt collector preferred mutilations–and he hadn’t yet figured out that Cybertronians had reattachable arms _and_ nerve sensors that could be shut off on command. The trick would only work once, though.

As Smokescreen writhed around on the ground and screamed (he hoped) convincingly, he wondered how he would explain himself (and his detached arm) to Bluestreak this time. An encounter with the Decepticons? Maybe a simple barroom brawl?

* * *

> **Orion brought the glass of Engex to his lips and took the shot, as Megatronus looked on with obvious concern.** (Cyberverse, Megatron & ~~Optimus~~ Orion)

“Waiting for Maccadam to refine his newest concoction would be the wiser choice,” Megatron mused, but Optimus just frowned and shook his head. Unbothered, Megatron continued: “Have you forgotten the last time he updated the menu? I was unconscious for two _hours_ after tasting the first batch of Nightmare Fuel.”

“I cannot say I recall that.”

Megatron narrowed his optics, and wondered whether Optimus forgetting these things was going to become a pattern.

* * *

> **Rodimus couldn't tell them how it was eating him up inside.** (TFA, Rodimus Prime)

He was cleared for active duty, released from the stagnant, sterile halls where bots went to die (where _Magnus_ was dying). He was _fine._ More than fine! Red Alert had even taken the opportunity to add some of the mods he had been requesting for cycles!

“It should’ve been me,” Rodimus says, but only to himself. “It should’ve been me.”

* * *

> **As Dead End's optics widened, he knew he'd made a big mistake.** (Cyberverse, Dead End/Perceptor)

Before Perceptor could explain himself–or better yet, _apologize–_ Dead End’s expression changed. It hardened, and in an instant, Dead End looked like…

He looked like a _Decepticon_ , all sharp angles and impermeable optics, with barely-restrained violence lurking just out of sight.

Perceptor had never thought of Dead End as a Decepticon; he had been _one of them,_ one of the survivors of the Quintesson invasion. He was nothing like Megatron, he was so far removed from a bot like Overlord that they might as well have been a different species.

Now, Perceptor wasn’t so sure.

* * *

> **Getaway had a grim look in his eyes as he looked on from his table in Swerve's bar.** (IDW/MTMTE, Getaway)

The nudge gun was usually kept in his waist compartment, but at Swerve’s, it remained a comfortable, familiar weight against his leg. Atomizer shifted–he was uncomfortable with the look in his eyes, Getaway knew. _All_ of them had misgivings about using Tailgate. Getaway did too, but they would never know that. They could _never_ know that–he was their fearless leader, their Optimus Prime–and Optimus Prime did not show fear.

* * *

> **No one but Soundwave would ever understand the horror in complete silence.** (IDW Phase 1, Soundwave)

Sometimes, Soundwave wondered if Shockwave had done it on purpose. He had never been able to taste Shockwave’s emotions because he _had none,_ but a lack of emotions did not mean Shockwave always acted rationally.

Shockwave could justify it with the lack of resources, lack of expertise in Soundwave’s outlier abilities. Megatron accepted it, so Soundwave would. It did not change the fact that despite all the comlink channels and subspace radio in the universe, Soundwave felt…silenced.

* * *

> **First Aid almost felt nauseous when he glanced at the exam's study guide.** (IDW, First Aid)

It wasn’t the content itself that was overwhelming.

It was the sheer enormity of it, far too much for a mech to direct download into his brain module. First Aid looked from the study guide to the textbook itself, back to the study guide, and sighed.

First Aid steeled himself.

The journey of half a million pages began with a single paragraph, didn’t it?

* * *

> **"I'm telling you, whistling is a biological impossibility for Cybertronians!"** (IDW, Wheeljack) **  
> **

“Every race on the Galactic Council–or for that matter, the Black Box Consortia–is capable of whistling. Humans, Nebulans, _Torkulons…_ even the Xilliens are capable of whistling.”

“Do you _really_ want to put yourself in the same category as a Xillien?

“No! But…the idea of a mech being able to shapeshift–think about it! Forget holomatter avatars and mass shifting–what if we could _become_ an alien? Wouldn’t that be _fantastic?_ ”

* * *

**[ Reblog. Opens in new window ](https://www.tumblr.com/reblog/618216330196385792/OiJhTHPb) **

> **Shockwave stared blankly at Orion.** (IDW, Shockwave/Optimus)

“I do not understand why you continue to visit me.”

“You’re _here,”_ Orion said. “You’re sitting on the bench– _our bench._ Surely that must mean something to you.”

“It is an adequate vantage point.” A milling crowed of potential protestors drew his attention, and Shockwave looked away from Orion. “Your friend is gone, and you must accept that.”

* * *

> **"Cosmos," Prowl buried his face in his hands, "you and Soundwave have been doing WHAT?"** (IDW, Prowl &, Cosmos, Cosmos/Soundwave)

“We needed privacy! You never know who might be listening in!”

“You realize _Soundwave_ is the one whose whole _thing_ is ‘listening in’?”

Prowl took Cosmos’s flustered protests as acknowledgement that he was right. He crossed his arms and wondered how intimidating he actually looked, considering he barely came up to the Autobot’s shoulders.

“Just…give me a warning next time.” Prowl gritted his teeth. “I…worry, about you two.”

* * *

> **"Oh, come on, don't try to fool us with that slag."** (Cyberverse, Soundwave/Hot Rod)

“I never joke,” Soundwave said, so seriously, that Hot Rod almost believed him. The _almost_ turned to _very nearly certain_ when he stepped forward to rest a hand on his shoulder _. “_ Not about things like this.”

Hot Rod drank in the sharp angles of Soundwave’s frame, trying to memorize the way the light reflected off his (nearly pristine) armor, and wondered how long Soundwave would keep the streaks of red paint that marred his plating.

“Well, alright then–let’s try this. _Together.”_

* * *

> **The roads are smeared with ash.** (IDW/exrid, Wheeljack)

_“Cybertron doesn’t want us here,”_ Bumblebee had said, and Wheeljack…was beginning to suspect it was true. He hadn’t _wanted_ to believe it–this was _Cybertron,_ their home, the world they had destroyed their species for.

And it didn’t want them. It pierced their brain modules with maddening noise, threw torrents of gritty rain and ash down upon Iacon, and the air always, _always,_ carried the smell of freshly-spilled energon.

Wheeljack took one final look at the monitor–Bumblebee was trying to appease the most recent mob, Metalhawk was arguing, Starscream and Ratbat lingered in the background–and sighed.

* * *

> **"It shouldn't have come to this."** (TFP, Arcee, ensemble)

It was inevitable, Arcee supposed. Being stranded on Earth, isolated from whatever Autobots remained, and now with _Optimus_ gone.

It was inevitable that they’d turn to _this_.

Jack and Ratchet had spent the morning scouring the human’s internet for ideas, eventually landing on a nefarious website called instructables.com. Arcee’s frame was covered with the fruits of their experiment: foam darts in varying neon colors, all stuck to her armor.

* * *

**Whirl suddenly appeared holding Gak™.** (IDW/MTMTE, Whirl)

According to Brainstorm, Gak™ was truly the only substance that could power his latest experimental weapon. A delicate mixture of polyvinyl acetate, sodium tetraborate, and other materials Brainstorm classified as Unknowable, Gak™ was truly filled with untapped potential.

Disregarding Brainstorm’s hastily-scribbled instructions, Whirl sloppily loaded Gak™ into the gun. The massive weapon looked more suited to a triplechanger or shuttleformer, but Whirl was not to be deterred. Were he able, Whirl might have smiled as he poured the sticky, obnoxiously green goo into the chamber.

[ Reblog. Opens in new window ](https://www.tumblr.com/reblog/618216330196385792/OiJhTHPb)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've gotten to the end of this...WOW I LOVE YOU A LOT!


	11. Things You Said (various)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this prompt list: https://soundwavereporting.tumblr.com/post/622310747162263552/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a

_15\. things you said with too many miles between us_ (TFP wavewave)

It starts with pragmatic, _necessary_ information. Coordinates, ship logs, tactical data. Shockwave takes the data and learns from it, extrapolating an anticipated date of return.

Megatron promised– _promised–_ a swift and victorious return to Cybertron.

The systems are too damaged to transmit date: Shockwave can only look on as the Decepticon’s resources slowly dwindle down. Then, just as slowly, they reach a plateau.

Shockwave adjusts his calculations accordingly.

And then Soundwave begins transmitting… _personal_ data. Nothing _overtly_ personal, of course: Soundwave has never wasted his time in that respect, and he never will. But if Soundwave sees fit to send over a status report about Laserbeak, or the occasional image of a newly discovered organisms, Shockwave certainly isn’t going to complain. His studies on Cybertron have become stagnant, and Shockwave is always looking for something to learn.

Sometimes, Soundwave even sends over music. Shockwave learns to appreciate the way it sound moves through him, how it hums in his circuits and has his optic shining just a little brighter.

It occurs to Shockwave that Soundwave likely has no way to know if Shockwave is receiving the data. 

And then there is nothing.

And Shockwave learns to mourn.

* * *

 _11\. things you said when you were drunk_ (Cyberverse, Deadceptor)

“I love you,” Dead End said, and realized just as quickly _what_ he had said. “Uh! I mean…frag.”

“Charming.” Perceptor’s voice was dry. He tugged at the half full glass of engex Dead End was clinging to for dear life. Dead End let go. He scowled at Perceptor, scoffed, then turned away. Perceptor fought the smile that tugged at the edges of his lips.

“I was talking to the drink,” Dead End muttered.

“Hm.”

He wasn’t foolish enough to hear a drunken, quickly rescinded declaration of love and immediately run out of the bar to tell the world he and Dead End were sparkmates.

But it was still nice to hear.

* * *

 _9._ _things you said when i was crying_ (Cyberverse, Deadceptor)

“You are going to be fine.” Perceptor held out a clean rag, but when Dead End didn’t look up to take it, he shoved it into Dead End’s hands. “These things happen.”

“This is _embarrassing.”_ To no avail, Dead End wiped at the coolant trailing down his face.

 _“_ And this would not have happened if you bothered to keep up the maintenance required for your optics to function optimally,” Perceptor chided. “Instead of spending your maintenance cycles polishing yourself.”

“You’re one to talk.” Without looking, Dead End gestured vaguely in Perceptor’s direction. Perceptor supposed he couldn’t really argue, considering the state of his own optics. He could, however, say:

“Well, one of us needs to see,” Perceptor said. Dead End set aside the soaked rag and submitted himself to an examination via scope. “I doubt it will require medical attention– _if_ you remember to regularly flush your optical sensors _regularly_ to prevent the coolant building up again.”

* * *

 _12\. t_ _hings you said when you thought i was asleep_ (IDW, Soundwave & Ravage, prowlcoswave)

<you know they are still awake.>

<yes.>

Ravage had been gnawing an empty energon cube but he pushed it aside to better focus on interpreting the movements of Soundwave’s hands. They sat in what had once been Soundwave-and-the-cassette’s habsuite, what was now Soundwave’s solo habsuite-because-ew-Autobots-kept-staying-over.

Chirolinguistics did not come naturally to either of them–Ravage’s claws were too unwieldy, and Soundwave usually preferred less tactile methods of communication. But now, it seemed fitting.

<you three smell absolutely _repulsive. >_

<i am aware.>

Gently, and with no small amount of affection, Soundwave tapped Ravage’s snout.

Any other mech would have lost their hand, but Ravage simply made a show of baring his teeth and went back to pretending he and Soundwave weren’t talking.

<soundwave.> Ravage lifted his head and Soundwave obligingly held out his hand, allowing him rub his snout against Soundwave’s palm. <you _are_ happy, aren’t you?>

<yes.> Soundwave’s optics were bright. <i am.>

* * *

 _12\. t_ _hings you said when you thought i was asleep_ (IDW, prowlcoswave)

“I’m afraid.”

Cosmos wasn’t talking to either of them. He was speaking to D.0.C., but it _felt_ like he was speaking to them.

“They’re just… _special._ And more similar to each other than they ever could be to me. So I wouldn’t be _offended_ if they wanted to break it off with me.”

The drone hummed. And then Cosmos was wondering if Soundwave could tell what D.0.C. was thinking–he _could,_ if he could bring himself to focus on it, but rarely would he ever _want to._ His mental energies were better spent elsewhere. Like focusong on the two Autobots in the berth beside him.

“And I _know_ Soundwave knows but he’s never said anything about it, which makes me think he’s just waiting for me to realize it on my own.”

Cosmos paused, sneaking a glance at said mech as though the mere mention of his name would be enough to rouse him. If he hadn’t already been online, it very well might have been.

He sighed.

“I just…don’t know what to do.”

* * *

 _18._ _things you said when you were scared_ (IDW, prowlcoswave) 

**spoilers** for the prowlcoswave fics

“Come here.”

If Prowl disregarded the warnings and extended his sensors past their safety threshold and focused out, far past the station and into the depths of space, he could sense him. _It._ Unicron, the Unmaker, Atrophy. Sentinel had called it all of those things–and more.

He couldn’t imagine what it sounded like to Soundwave.

The order, at least, was enough to temporarily snap Soundwave out of his trance. Prowl tried–and failed–not to see the way Soundwave was shaking as he approached.

Soundwave hesitated, and Prowl closed the distance between them. 

Prowl had never been prone to reading fiction, much less _romance,_ unless there was literally nothing else available, but the way Soundwave’s body felt against his; the comfortable way they _fit_ together…

Logically, he knew it was both a byproduct of his frametype and the fact that Soundwave was insistently _leaning_ against him, but it still felt _right. Nice._

“I cannot–” Soundwave’s voice was thick with static. “It is too _much.”_

“I know.” Touching Soundwave felt like handling a live wire: he was frighteningly _alive,_ burning with terrified energy. There was a non-zero chance this strain on Soundwave’s systems would send him into stasis lock. “We’ll figure it out.”

Whether it was from the proximity to another living mechanism, or the confidence Prowl hoped didn’t ring too false, Soundwave began to relax.

“You always do.”

* * *

 _19\. things you said when we were the happiest we ever were_ (TFP, optiratch)

With Raf’s invaluable assistance, the subspace communicator was up and running within the week. It took far longer for Cybertron’s transmitter to be set up–long enough that Ratchet had genuinely begun to _worry._

Yet, the instant the connection was established and Optimus’ face appeared on the screen, Ratchet’s frustration and worry melted away.

“Old friend,” Optimus’ voice was warm. “How are you?”

“Been better,” Ratchet said. “Unlike you, it seems.”

Optimus tilted his head, brows furrowed in concern, but Ratchet just smiled. For once, it didn’t feel forced.

“How long have we known each other, Optimus?” Ratchet said. “I’ve never seen you so happy.”

“Ah.” Optimus was holding back a smile, now. “I suppose I am.”

Ratchet glanced quickly at his chrono. In anticipation of this meeting, he had cleared his schedule for the rest of the day, and his comlink hadn’t yet been pinged.

For once, he was free to spend a few hours with Optimus, and Ratchet intended to savor every minute of it.

“So,” Ratchet leaned back in his seat. “Tell me about Cybertron.”

* * *

 _9\. things you said when i was crying_ (IDW, Cosmos/Prowl)

Cosmos had been on the verge of unconsciousness when he heard the first–and only–shrill exclamation of Prowl’s siren. Prowl had been trying to figure out how to disable the reflex, but to no avail.

He was abruptly startled back into full consciousness, sitting up and nearly hitting his head on one of the perches Laserbeak had taken it upon himself to install earlier that week.

Prowl was already awake–if he hadn’t been, the siren would have continued until he _did_ wake up. He tried–valiantly–to ignore Cosmos’ approach. Cosmos pretended not to notice the way Prowl stiffened when he sat at the edge of the berth, but he _couldn’t_ ignore the way Prowl’s engine hitched, the way he trembled when Cosmos rested a hand on his shoulder.

They had gone through this routine enough times that Cosmos didn’t ask whether or not Prowl wanted Cosmos to stay. He knew the answer; it wasn’t worth wasting the words–or Prowl’s limited free processing space. Wordlessly, Cosmos lay down. His arm barely touched the sensory panels affixed to Prowl’s back: normally, Prowl would tuck them against his back, allowing Cosmos to comfortably lie beside him.

Not now.

Lying together, yet immeasurably far apart, they prepared for a long night.

* * *

 _20\. Things you said that I wasn’t meant to hear_ (IDW, prowlcoswave)

Throughout their years together, Prowl and Cosmos had learned that very few things could reliably wake Soundwave once he had settled down for the night. Short of a station-wide or personal emergency, Soundwave would usually sleep through the night, waking only for times like this.

If Prowl hadn’t woken an instant before his siren activated, Cosmos would have been startled awake too. As it stood, Prowl and Soundwave awoke in tandem–Prowl could feel Soundwave shifting beside him, likely trying to figure out if _he_ had had the nightmare, or if he had unintentionally snooped in on one of his partners’ dreams.

Prowl let out a slow exhale. Soundwave rolled over–he had fallen asleep on top of Cosmos earlier in the night, then at some point he had migrated to wedge himself in between the two Autobots.

Prowl didn’t react when Soundwave dropped a hand over his waist. Once, he might have stiffened, or even pushed the mech away. But too much had happened in the interim, and now Prowl felt as comfortable with Soundwave’s touch as he did anyone else’s. Probably more so.

He leaned back into Soundwave’s touch, initiating a short term processor dump; it wouldn’t purge the memory of the nightmare, or the false readings his sensors registered, but it _would_ help. Soundwave pulled him closer, mumbling half-conscious comforts into Prowl’s audials.

Beneath the weight of Soundwave’s affection, Prowl began to relax.

* * *

 _14\. things you said after you kissed me_ (IDW, prowlcoswave) 

**spoilers** for the prowlcoswave series

It’s nothing like their first kiss and it’s _everything_ like their first kiss—hungry and desperate and longing. Prowl tastes the sharp ozone of Soundwave’s mind and he finds himself wondering at the fact that Soundwave’s last conscious act was to kiss him. _Him._

Soundwave pulls away and gets even closer. Soundwave’s told Prowl what he needs to do next but he doesn’t push Prowl away and send him back to the ship. Their foreheads meet, and Prowl forces his optic to remain online—as much as he wants to focus on the feeling of Soundwave’s frame pressed against his own, Soundwave deserves to look into his mind one last time.

So Prowl looks. He looks at the way the angles dance around Soundwave’s trembling frame, the way Optimus and Sky-Byte linger at the edge of his peripheral vision.

“I love you,” Prowl whispers, because there isn’t anything else _to_ say—it’s a dull, false echo of the words Cosmos screamed at him, but they don’t ring any less true.

With a voice coated in static and energon, Soundwave whispers his response.


End file.
